We don’t spend too long doing the rounds. I can tell that Mr. Dowling is bored now that the ceremony is over. He wants to move on. He forces himself to mingle for a while, since some part of him knows it would be rude to cut out immediately, but he’s an impatient bunny.
“I think we should retire for the night and spend some quality time alone,” I tell him, offering him an excuse to leave early.
The clown wrings his hands and nods eagerly, then stands on his toes and waves flamboyantly to everyone.
“We will take our leave also,” Owl Man murmurs, coming forward to kiss my cheek. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, Becky.”
“Like I’ve told you before, it’s B,” I growl.
“I know,” he smiles. “But how disappointed would you be if I stopped annoying you now?”
I laugh warmly at Owl Man as he retreats, then give Rage an evil glare, letting him know his card is marked. He flips me the finger and slinks away without saying a word. I don’t envy Owl Man his choice of assistant. I trust Rage about as much as I’d trust a sackful of rabid rattlesnakes.
Mr. Dowling treats everyone to a final wave, then propels me out of the chamber. He’s humming something–it’s a mix of several different tunes–as he hops along, dragging me with him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, shaking confetti from my scalp and dress.
“The bridal suite,” he giggles.
“Slow down,” I snap. “Remember our rules? There won’t be any fun and games tonight.”
“Of course there will. A wedding isn’t a wedding until it’s been given the full nuptial stamp of approval. But don’t worry,” he adds as I get ready to rear up on him. “This will be a mingling of our minds, not our bodies.”
“Yeah, well, that’s okay then,” I mumble dubiously.
Mr. Dowling leads me to a chamber far from his personal quarters and the cavern where we held the wedding ceremony. This feels like it’s on the outskirts of the complex, even more removed from the central hub than the zoo.
It’s a tiny room, smaller than any of the others I’ve visited. The walls have been painted white and there’s a four-poster bed in the center. I eye the bed beadily, but then I spot Mr. Dowling’s electrocuting wand and relax. Seems like he’s telling the truth and this is going to be just another mental sharing session. I’m cool with that.
Mr. Dowling keeps humming as he powers up the wand. I circle the bed, checking out the rest of the room. It’s bare, no flowers or anything else to show it’s meant for a bride and groom, but at least there are no body parts lying around.
“Hey, we didn’t have any flowers at the wedding,” I suddenly note.
“I was going to pick flowers for you,” he says, “but I promised no more killing.”
“That doesn’t extend to the plant kingdom,” I laugh.
“I see no difference between humans, animals and plants,” he says. “A vow is a vow. If I made an exception, I would find it hard to limit myself. Honoring my promise will be difficult. My only hope is to cut out killing entirely.”
“You know,” I mutter, “maybe this will work after all. I was skeptical about us–I still am–but we might have a sliver of a chance.”
“I hope so,” he says earnestly, pausing to look at me. “You are my lifeline, the only one who can possibly help me recover my senses.” He gulps, then flexes his mouth several times. I think he’s making faces, until he shocks me by moaning softly and doing something I never thought to hear.
He speaks out loud.
The words come out in a croak, barely audible. But I can tell it took all that he had to focus his senses and force his lips to work the way they once did. I’m touched by the gesture, more than I thought I could be.
“You poor bastard,” I cry. “If I can help you, I will. I can’t promise success, but I’ll try my hardest.”
The clown sticks his right hand under his left armpit and makes a farting noise. I laugh. He’s not mocking me. He just can’t help himself. But, with my help, maybe one day he can. I thought I was doing the wrong thing before the wedding, but now I’m positive that I was right to accept his proposal. If I can be the saving of Albrecht Dowling, maybe I can ultimately be the saving of the world itself.
Smiling warmly, I lie on the bed and let Mr. Dowling squeeze a sponge over my face. He does it softly, lovingly, and it’s water for once, not blood—I suppose any sort of liquid helps conduct the current.
The clown lies down beside me. We stare at one another shyly, and in this quiet moment we’re a normal couple on their wedding night.
Mr. Dowling strokes my cheek. He’s calmer than usual. I want him to speak again, but he doesn’t break the silence. I don’t think he can. With a smile, he lifts the wand and looks at me questioningly, offering me a choice.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, covering his bony, mutilated hand with mine. “I want to merge with you tonight.”
He nods happily, kisses my hand, then gently presses the wand to my forehead. Electricity shoots through me. The world turns whiter than the walls. I fall happily into the void of our shared consciousness. He opens himself up to me completely. It’s a beautiful, blissful moment, one of the sweetest I’ve ever known.
Then we crash in flames and everything goes to hell.